#Crowley doesn’t know about consent

[tivstiv]

LEARN.

CONSENT.

YOU.

FUCKING.

IDIOTSSS!!!!!?!!!!!!

[quietwingsinthesky]

Still bothered by Azazel possessing a reaper. How tf did you do that, old man.

[ardentpoop]

If it's okay to ask: what are your thoughts on meg and sexual assault? I really dislike the way a lot of people on here talk about it (and meg, especially meg 2.0, in general) so I wanted to hear your view on it if you'd like to share!

not totally sure if you mean you’re bothered by how people discuss meg as a perpetrator or meg as a victim, because one could easily argue both. there are obvious allusions to rape re: meg possessing sam’s body in BUABS (just as every possession arc incorporates allusions to rape - most notably sam’s as he is at the heart of the majority of these arcs and also because well. The Roles.) and there are also of course the scenes where meg gets grabby with both sam and dean as a show of force.

I’m gonna assume however that you’re referring to people speaking about meg 2.0 in a demeaning manner and not recognizing the excessive misogynistic violence she is subjected to as a character, because come on. I know what this fandom is like. the two key episodes that come to mind for me are “caged heat” and “goodbye stranger.” gonna share some dialogue excerpts to get my point across, but you could even just count how many times dean refers to meg as a “bitch” in caged heat because it is frankly impressive that the writers (this one was tag-teamed by a duo and neither of them are familiar names) were so committed to it in just the one episode.

[caged heat]

notes on the above excerpts:

as with all demons who inhabit female vessels meg’s sexuality is a main ingredient of her characterization as a villain. she speaks overwhelmingly in slimy innuendo and flirtatious-quips-as-insults, she forcefully kisses and touches sam and dean without their consent, she is frequently referred to as a “whore” accordingly. it’s worth noting however that although in this episode meg weaponizes her sexuality (as expected for every character like her) against samndean while she supposedly has them tied up at her mercy, it is soon revealed that meg cannot actually harm samndean and is on the run from crowley - the brothers have the upper hand and her threats are ultimately empty. meg’s power is taken from her at the very start of this episode.

compare meg being tortured by crowley’s henchman to crowley being tortured by meg moments later within the same episode. she is naked and strapped down, she is being assaulted with a knife. the dialogue smacks you over the head with implied rape, as if the scene wasn’t brutal enough on its own. what does crowley get in return from meg, when he greets her as “whore” immediately after this assault scene? he gets to writhe around a bit on the floor, fully-clothed of course. “the best torturers never get their hands dirty,” huh? convenient!

on top of all this we for some reason also needed cas testing out his Porn Tricks on meg - which, don’t get me wrong, I’ve always kind of had a weird soft spot for megstiel (gay edit), but you have to admit that the timing and the context rankles. recurring Woman Character who doesn’t serve as a love interest or sexual interest for one of the boys is very hard to come by around here.

[goodbye stranger]

robbie thompson committed many sins with this (tbfh) godawful episode but what I want to point out here specifically is the continuation of meg being victimized by crowley. with bonus treat of sam being spoken to in the same sexually demeaning manner, as I suppose is only fair and right when both meg and sam were given the “wait outside while the men take care of business, frail maiden” treatment because thompson could not resist an opportunity to serve up dstiel bait that interfered with the structure and logic of the episode as well as with dean’s (and meg’s!) characterization.

TL;DR yeah uh the fans never talk about any of this because they’re too high on dstiel fumes to critique anything about the writing if they’re getting their tasty tasty little flavorless morsels from the like 3 guys on the writing team who were willing to feed them.

sorry for being mean but not really bc you guys are so annoying and dense about the already horrifically mistreated female characters on this show. wish I knew specifically what types of meg takes you don’t like anon so I could confirm whether they’re the ones that are a product of people despising female characters who “get in the way.”

[unicornbeck]

Thinking about Crowley.

For a long time, I thought of him as sort of like a sleeper-cell for Team God. (Assuming that God is good and not just arbitrary and power-mad.)

After S1 I really believed Crowley might have a little bit of insider knowledge. He still talks to God, always questioning, even mocking— but that’s prayer! To talk to God, directly, that’s prayer. Crowley, a demon of Hell, the Serpent of Eden, prays.

But after S2, my perception has shifted a bit. I still kind of think our demon might be a sleeper-cell for Her, but I’m no longer convinced that he’s in on it. She may well have asked him, before the Fall, and he may well have agreed without understanding what he was really consenting to. But I do think his memory has been tampered-with. And I do think he had beef with God, up in Heaven, about the beautiful Universe she was “planning on shutting down.”

It’s just… She made Crowley, and Aziraphale. She’s reported to be omniscient and omnipotent. That kind of means that except for free will, She set things up how She wanted them. On purpose.

If She really is omnipotent, omniscient, and good, then our angel and demon have been instruments of Her will this whole time. Crowley is Her sleeper-cell amongst the minions of Hell— even if he doesn’t know it.

I feel it’s childish of me to want to redeem Her as a character, and yet… And yet.

And just think about it, how mad, how irritated, Crowley will be when She finally returns, carrying with her all of the memories she took, so that proof of Crowley’s initial consent is thrown back in his face, now that he’s gone through all of that suffering without ever knowing why. By taking his memories, She robbed him of his sense of purpose. What a wildly cruel thing to do to him, in the name of …what, secrecy?

I’m not at all sure things will go that way. She is ineffable, the very first of Her name. We may never be granted the information She’s withheld. But what a role for Frances McDormand!

Our poor snek has suffered so much. Will he think it’s finally worth it, if he is, indeed, a sleeper-cell for God?

Only if he gets to be with his angel, I think.

[aziraphales-library]

are there any fics where aziraphale draws crowley or crowley sees any drawings that he has made? thanks for all your work! :)

Here are some fics in which Aziraphale draws Crowley...

The Art of Love and Longing by afhyer, AnonymousDandelion, Carimes_treehouse, Rose_hip_mash (G)

“You know, my dear. My other art pieces. I… I’ve never shared most of them with anyone. For various reasons. But, well.” Aziraphale drew a deep breath, almost as if steadying himself, and looked Crowley directly in the sunglasses. “Would you like me to show you the other works in my portfolio?” * * * Just because you’ve known someone for 6000+ years doesn’t mean you know all their secrets. And now, Aziraphale is ready to share with Crowley something that he has long kept hidden.

in every picture that i drew (i saw you) by animeangelriku (T)

It’s a sketch of him. Crowley stares at the piece of parchment for what feels like an eternity. It has no signature, and the nearly washed out black of the lines gives the impression that it’s much older than one would assume at first glance. Did… did Aziraphale draw this?

The Picture of Anthony J Crowley by shoesoftennis (T)

One day over lunch, Aziraphale offers to paint Crowley's portrait. Crowley takes him up on it and hangs the picture on his wall. He had mostly forgotten about it until the day after the averted Apocalypse. Now, there's something incredibly wrong with it.

So Hey, I Drew You In A Coffee Shop Before Christmas, You're Welcome by ServantOfMischief (G)

Aziraphale decides to go to the coffee shop right by his bookshop just to relax a bit and read a book, even doodle a little bit if inspiration struck him. And inspiration just walked in the door in the shape of a redhead with the most ridiculous shades. I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!

His sun by kate_the_reader (T)

Aziraphale has a talent Crowley knew nothing about — he draws ... Crowley. He always has. Crowley has complicated feelings when he finds out.

Taking flight by Sani86 (T)

Aziraphale is a first-year fine arts student with an eye for beautiful people. Crowley is a professional ballet dancer with the most perfect body he'd ever seen. A story about art, self-expression and friendship through thick and thin.

- Mod D

[hkblack]

Let me tell you a story...

It starts in the summer of 2021. Honestly it probably starts a little before that. 2020 through 2022 ish are a bit hazy because there was a lot of sitting around at home doing nothing.

Somewhere in that haziness my partner goes “wait, you haven’t watched this Good Omens show yet? And you haven’t read the book? … oh no. You should do that.”

And immediately after finishing the show I knew I was in trouble. I knew if I read the book I would absolutely fall down the fandom rabbit hole and be trapped, and so for a very long while, I didn’t. Until I did.

And then in August 2021, I wandered into fandom. I had been lurking. Seeing what AO3 had to offer. Crawling back onto Tumblr. But I had a story idea, and I needed a beta reader. And the last time I was in fandom, LiveJournal was still a thing, so I didn’t know where to go.

I found out about Discord, and I signed up for a thousand servers, it felt like, and in one server I bravely started sticking my neck out.

There was talk about someone writing a Human AU on a farm, and farm animals in general, and I chimed in about goat-scaping. And then I made the joke that would seal my fate.

“I don’t know if I could write a kid fic, but you know. I could write a kid (goat) fic.”

It was meant to be a short, sweet, meet-cute. Professor Aziraphale has a goat from the goat scaping team break into his office. Based loosely on a campus experience where a member of the goat-scaping team at a campus I was on tried (and failed) to get into a classroom once.

A simple formula. Maybe a 4+1? 4 times a goat broke into Professor Aziraphale Fell’s office, and one time it didn’t.

I even found the first beta reading request. First chapter done, I’ve got four more planned. Rated T.

Ha.

I started writing Chapter 5, you know, the final chapter, and realized—there’s more to this story. These characters have life, and story, and who doesn’t want to see more goats? Also, had I truly fulfilled the “kid-fic” portion of my joke?

I think we can all agree that no, no I hadn’t.

So, I kept writing. But I also found my stride in other Discord Servers and in Fandom in general. And in the winter of 2021, I went on a beta-reading blitz for the Gift Exchange happening in the Do It With Style Events Discord server. I read something like 14? 15? stories in a very short amount of time and in doing so, got to know some really amazing people and began to carve out my spot in the community.

From this server I found folks with lived goat-experience who were willing to share and advise me. From this server I found beta readers and brit pickers willing to cheer me on and guide my writing to the best version it could be. I found friends and joy and I found community.

And if you look very carefully through the pages of Bleating Hearts, I think that at its heart, past the puns, past the obvious fast burn love story, and the crooked Luce Matin and demanding James Starr, and even beyond the goats, it’s a story about finding your place in a community. While we talk about Aziraphale and Crowley and their relationship, so many people have asked me about Anathema and Crowley at the chicken coop (we only got to see Newt and Aziraphale in the bedroom). The most commented on scene is Anathema pulling the car over and getting Aziraphale’s consent to go to Tracy’s for lunch.

It's a story with goats, romance, and drama. But it’s a story about community.

I have thanked the people most involved a thousand times over, and I will always take an excuse to thank them again. @ambrasue, my ride or die beta reader. She is who to thank for the sentences making sense. And for me not beating you all over the head with the word “Gently.” HolRose, for the Brit-Picking and second pair of eyes when Ambra and I had gone cross-eyed, and always, always, always having a kind comment ready to go for every chapter update. @writingordinaryrealities, for all things Goats, and for not laughing at me when we met in person and I lost my cool over real life goats.

@mirjam-writes! Mirjam made me my first ever fanart for one of my fanfics! And so many more of you have followed suit and I never know what to say when I see it but I always make a noise and run excitedly to my partner and flap my hands and show him his heart and he always gets the dumbest smile and goes, “I love when people make you goat fanart. You are adorable when you’re verklempt.”

But also, the DIWS and Good Omens community. Every single person who shouted at one of my snippets when I needed a boost and shared a bit of what I was proud of. Every single person who tagged me in a goat video—you all have tagged me in so many goat videos. I watch each and every one of them. Every single person who got excited when I said I was finally ready to start posting.

Because you see, that support, that community, led me to pay it forward. At TIC4 in 2023, I had just finished my panel on beta reading and was feeling a bit amped up. I saw in the chat that someone wanted to talk Slow Show and Human Aus and, I don’t know if y’all know this, but uh, I’m a big fan of human AUs. And so I hopped into the break out room and met J.

J is a lovely human who has been fandoming since the OG Star Trek days with Kirk and Spock. She had found a physical copy of Slow Show and just needed to talk to someone, anyone about it. She wasn’t sure what the Archive was, she was still learning her way around digital fandom, and I instantly wanted to reach out and help her find community and joy the way I had when I got started in the fandom. So, I sat down and I gave her my favorites. I told her how to find me on socials. We connected on Discord. We sent each other long letters back and forth on Discord sharing our joys and frustrations and our love of GO and talking about all sorts of other things. And it has been amazing listening to her stories and getting to know her.

Unbeknownst to me, J had reached out to @brunheiffer to ask for a physical copy of Bleating Hearts. Now—I’m all for fandom in the physical space, but it’s never even crossed my mind to do more than something printed out at my home printer, hastily hole punched, and shoved into a binder so I could sneak fanfiction reading time during 5th period math class after I was done with my worksheets many, many, many moons ago. When brunheiffer reached out and asked if they could print and bind a copy for me—I didn’t know what to say. Or do. Or think. I think I keysmashed? I keysmashed after I made my partner read the message out loud. And then I went and looked through tumblr and all of brunheiffer’s excellent work. And then I went, “Do I say yes?” and he went “um YES OF COURSE YOU SAY YES. WHAT”

So, I said yes.

I also said yes to progress shots and got to watch some of the coolest work ever. I didn’t know how books…ya know…booked. Witchcraft probably? I’m still convinced there is witchcraft involved, but there is also an incredible amount of skill, and time, and patience, and hard work, and love that is put into making a book a book. And learning what I did, and watching the process, and seeing the care that brunheiffer put into each of the three (THREE!) sets of books that were made (one for me, one for brunheiffer, one for J), was just stunning.

Do you know, J reached out to me and apologized for not asking me first and asked me if it was okay that she had reached out and asked if brunheiffer would do this for her? Why would I ever be against something so heartfelt and kind?

I cried.

I legitimately sat in my office and cried.

When people ask me how I write the way I do, or why I write, or anything along those lines. I have the same answer. “I write for myself.”

Oh sure, I started to write Bleating Hearts to make Ambra laugh and/or have feelings, but at the end of the day, when I write, it is because I need to get the bed time stories I tell myself at night, the day dreams while sitting on the bus, out of my head and somewhere else—so that a new movie can play. And when I write, I write knowing that I will come back to that story. That I will forget the little pieces (because I have a pretty shit memory tbh), and I’ll be able to go back, and wrap myself up in the comfort of the story I have written, and be surprised by some of the little details I left as presents for myself. And be excited. And be happy. And watch my favorite movie again.

So every time I see someone make art of this story, or talk about how they love the story, or how happy it made them, or the feelings it inspired, or how reading goats made them want to write their own fanfiction—I get, well, like my partner says, “verklempt.” I don’t know what to do with that feeling, other than to just be overwhelmed that somehow something I made to entertain me has brought other people so much joy. Has helped people connect and find community.

What a powerful and beautiful thing that is.

Not everything I write is going to be Bleati—y'all I am just going to call it Goats. Calling it Bleating Hearts feels so weird. It’s Goats. That’s the name of the story. That’s my name for the story.

Anyway.

Not everything is going to be Goats. I’ve got some wips in the hopper right now that are um…lots of angst and heavy spice. Not everything I write is going to be liked by everyone. Some of it may even offend you.

But knowing that this one thing has inspired you all to the point that I’ve been gifted the ability to hold my story in my hand?

That’s powerful.

And it only exists because this community, this Good Omens community, has come together and chosen joy.

There’s some bad apples out there, there are in every bunch. But I am liberal with my block button and have been blessed to find a welcoming and warm community that creates some amazing and incredible art—whether that’s like actual like digital or pen to paper art, or the fiction you write, or the podfics you record, or the meta analysis you write, or the playlists or the animatics or the beta reading or the shouting unhinged support or the role playing or the plushies, or the books you bind—this community is full of incredibly creative and amazing people.

So thanks, y’all, for letting me part of your community, and enjoying my silly little goat fic. And thank you brunheiffer and J for this amazing gift.

If you haven’t read it, or just want to reread it, you can read Bleating Hearts (GOATS) on Archive of Our Own.

All my love,

HK

(I am the most cringe sap on main right now. No regurts)

[humbledragon669]

S2E1 - The Arrival Write Up P6 - the Present Day from Crowley’s entry to the book shop to his departure from it

Alright, let’s get stuck in – we have an ineffable divorce (of sorts) coming up in this section. Before we get to that though, let’s drop in on our new characters. There are a couple of things I would note about this scene in the coffee shop, and the first is about the soundtrack (shock horror, I know). It’s pretty tricky to say for sure, but it sounds like there’s a lack of background music playing as Maggie enters the café. That changes following Nina’s comment about her “charming personality” – you can just about hear a string arrangement in the background at this point. I’ve tried really hard to identify the song but failed miserably - it’s just not prominent enough, and I can’t hear a long enough phrase to get a grasp on it. I’m pretty grumpy about that if I’m honest, because it means I can’t even say for sure whether it’s just coincidence that the music appears to start playing only after Maggie enters the shop or not (after all, perhaps this is just a CD that happened to be between tracks as she comes through the door). If it’s not coincidental, that would give us another parallel between these two characters and our hero couple, particularly with the music in the previous coffee shop scene being so poignant. As it is, I’m just going to have to leave that as an open-ended question until/unless somebody has better hearing/sound editing skills that I do, and can actually identify the track.

Talking of potential parallels, I find it quite interesting to see the way that neither Nina or Maggie seem to be able to pick up on the cues that the other one gives them. Nina in particular really sucks at picking up the subtext that Maggie is virtually screaming at her, but it is a two-way street. And where else do we see this? Crowley and Aziraphale of course – their inability to “get the hint” from each other is something we’ve seen all throughout both the chronological and release timelines. We’ll see quite a few more parallels between the two couples as season 2 progresses, but I think this is one of the more subtle ones.

The last thing I wanted to say about this scene is going to be a bit more Nina-bashing I’m afraid. Let’s be clear – Maggie has brought this woman an incredibly thoughtful gift. How is that thoughtfulness rewarded? With a look that could sour milk.

And if the look wasn’t enough, the disdainful tone would be enough to finish the job. Honestly, is a simple “thank you” that hard? She makes Maggie feel so bad that she apologises to Nina for bringing her a gift! That one must really have stung. I don’t know if there’s maybe some sort of coded subtext here about consent; if that’s the case, the connotations and irony behind it make my head spin a bit so I think I’ll just stick with my original evaluation that Nina isn’t really that likeable (don’t worry, I will change my mind a bit later!).

Alright, time to get into the weeds! There are two things I noticed about the setting up of the scene in the bookshop, neatly summed up in the following shot:

So first off, we see Crowley removing his glasses as soon as he enters the shop, which speaks volumes about how comfortable he is in this setting. And not only does he remove them, but the way that he places them on the statue would suggest that this is something he does A LOT. I don’t think it’s been confirmed (more that it’s one of those things the fandom takes as cannon), but I like the thinking that the horse statue has been deliberately left or placed there as a convenient stand for Crowley to leave his glasses. It feels right – the demon doesn’t stop to look around for somewhere to put them, it’s almost reflex. And ultimately he doesn’t actually need to “place” them anywhere; he could have put them in his pocket, and just discarded them on one of the surfaces. Nah, the way he deals with his glasses here feels almost like muscle memory.

The second thing about this shot is to do with those damn Eccles cakes. Remember in the last part of the write up I waffled on about how I think Aziraphale orders those sweet treats not for himself but to give to Crowley as a peace offering? Well, here’s another piece of evidence to add to that theory, because he’s placed the plate of cakes (untouched I might add) in front of the statue where he then homes his glasses. And why do I think this is important? Because if he was just holding on to them for Aziraphale while the angel fumbled with his keys, he would probably have tried to give them back to him, or at least put them somewhere in the bookshop that was more Aziraphale’s than his, and this table is clearly “his” because that’s where his little horsey sunglasses stand lives. If that seems to be a bit flimsy as far as evidence goes, I’m not done yet – we’ll be back in a little while.

This next gif has been discussed by a ridiculous number of people, so I’m not going to dwell on it too much, but it would be remiss of me not to remark on it at all so here goes.

MARRIED. THIS PAIR ARE MARRIED. “Do we know a Jim”, honestly. I rest my case your honour (I don’t, there’s plenty more to talk about in this season that lends weight to the theory that Crowley and Aziraphale are already romantically involved at this point, and have been for quite some time).

Side note: how adorable is Aziraphale’s face as he prepares for impact:

Doesn’t it just make you want to go and squeeze his little cheeks and ruffle his hair? No? Just me? Probably not to be fair.

The exchange that follows is the first time in this season that I did a proper belly laugh when I first watched it (and it still makes me laugh to this day). The comic delivery here is so skilful, it’s just an absolute delight to watch. Can’t forget that soundtrack though, it’s beautifully pieced together, and adds so much to the scene. Also the camera work. And the lighting (with the shafts of light that fall through the window onto the horse statue, highlighting the fact that Crowley must be feeling incredibly exposed at this point). Just all of it really. So now that I’ve waxed lyrical about it as a whole, I have a few little things to say about some of the individual elements.

I made some comments about Aziraphale’s reaction to Gabriel showing up on his doorstep which brokered some discussion (which I was very pleased about – please don’t stop!) because the general consensus seems to be that Aziraphale is frightened of his former boss during that scene, and I don’t particularly get that vibe. I do here with Crowley. I mean, it’s pretty impossible not to, isn’t it? Crowley is absolutely terrified. And I think what’s worth bearing in mind that he has every right to be – after all, he’s the one with the memories from Heaven (this will be explicitly stated later in the season, but perhaps it’s something that is easy to forget at this point). He knows exactly how cold and ruthless that archangel can be. And maybe this is nothing, just the result of momentum as Crowley tries to put as much distance between himself and Gabriel/Jim as possible, but does this single frame look like he throws his arm up to protect Aziraphale?

I wrote that as if I was asking a question to which I wasn’t 100% sure of the answer already. Of course he’s trying to protect Aziraphale – see previous point about him knowing Gabriel’s true nature. There’s also this little gem:

Check out Crowley’s left shoulder (his left, not yours). If this is deliberate, it’s a stroke of absolute genius. It’s the tip of the wing from the cherub statue on the table behind him. It almost looks like it’s growing out from Crowley’s shoulder to shield Aziraphale. I don’t even feel like this is a stretch, it feels perfect (and I am more than a little bit pleased that I picked up on it). There’s really no need to worry though – the figure before him is anything but threatening. It took me a minute to realise why this shot of Jim/Gabriel looked familiar, and then it hit me:

We won’t talk about what happens in the film after Puss drops the “cute eyes” act.

There is something going on in this scene that I feel I have missed up to this point, and the only reason the penny has dropped now is because of this expression on Aziraphale’s face:

There’s something almost pleading about it. Like he doesn’t want to do what’s being asked of him and is trying to get somebody else to do it for him. Or more accurately, like he’s asking someone to rescue him. *huge clanging noise of a penny dropping* I can’t believe I haven’t thought about this scene in these terms before. The pair of them all but spell it out for us in the coffee shop when Crowley asks Aziraphale if the situation in the book shop is something he can “help” with (i.e. something he can rescue the angel from), garnering a desperate but silent nod from the angel. Here’s the funny thing about that dynamic now though – at this point Crowley knows he’s cornered.

He can’t very well walk out now, can he? He offered to help, something which he’s been doing for centuries without ever asking, or needing to be asked. How could he possibly abandon the rescue mission that he has actually signed up for already? And how else could he have expressed his intense annoyance at being tricked into this with anything other than with a growl? Maybe that’s what Aziraphale was angling for the whole time – personally I would be getting into trouble all the time if it meant being growled at by Crowley…

Easter egg time! At least I think it’s an Easter egg:

Jim’s yellow feather duster is a pretty close match to the one Freddie Mercury uses in the video for “I Want to Break Free”, which has some very fitting lyrics for Gabriel’s situation. What a fabulous Queen parallel to sneak in for the eagle-eyed! I will confess that I didn’t spot this one on my own - @noneother wrote a lovely post about it here.

Let’s just take a quick look at Aziraphale’s apparent thought process at this point:

That looks like a pretty confused angel to me. As in, he’s really not sure why Crowley has reacted in such an extreme manner to Gabriel’s appearance. And going back to what I said earlier about the memories that Crowley has of his last interactions with the archangel, that would make sense, particularly if he has never shared those memories with Aziraphale. If that’s the case, it might go some way to explain why he can’t understand Crowley’s emotional state, or his staunch refusal to do anything other than disassociate themselves with Gabriel completely. What it also shows though is that Aziraphale has already made up his mind that the right thing to do is help Gabriel, which will become all the more apparent in the upcoming scene. What also becomes apparent is that if he was afraid of Gabriel when his arrived on his doorstep, that is very much not the case anymore. He does appear to give some quarter to Crowley when the demon manages to communicate exactly why it is that he feels so strongly though; you can see it in the little head movement and on his face:

Quick observation here, and again this might be nothing, but doesn’t the shape of that the dressing screen behind Aziraphale look familiar?

They look a bit like wings, don’t they? I only caught this whilst I was writing this, and it could be a coincidence (I doubt it), but let’s just say that it isn’t for a minute – what would that say about Aziraphale’s frame of mind here? That at this point in time he feels very close to his angelic origins? It would explain his somewhat blind desire to help Gabriel – helping someone in need is technically the “right” thing to do after all. Coincidence or not, there’s something else of interest in Crowley’s impassioned speech:

CROWLEY: This is the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven, your former boss, who tried very hard to cast you into Hellfire and destroy you. He is not our friend.

Everything that Crowley identifies as part of Gabriel’s character relates to Aziraphale (former workplace, former boss, former offences against the angel) but all of those things inherently mean that Gabriel cannot possibly be a candidate to be their friend. Not Aziraphale’s friend. Their friend. This is protective Crowley in all his glory. But it got me thinking to about the use of the collection pronouns in this scene in general – I’ve summarised below to make it a bit easier to understand.

So firstly, Crowley uses those collective pronouns much more freely and readily than Aziraphale does. That is partly because he actually says a lot more than the angel in general in this scene, but personally I also think it speaks largely to his primary motive here, and that is the preservation of life as he knows it, which largely centres around Aziraphale. On the other hand, the angel’s primary motive in this scene appears to be a desire to do the “right” thing, never mind the cost, clearly wanting to employ that forgiveness he claims to be so good at. His use of the collective pronouns is reserved for the more manipulative aspects of his emotional scale – pleading and indignation.

I think it’s interesting that we see Crowley consciously switch to the use of singular pronouns after Aziraphale tries to get him on side by telling him about Gabriel’s needs. A lot of people would see this as being somewhat spiteful, a way to get what he wants, but I think it’s more than that – he’s trying to tell Aziraphale that his needs aren’t being met, and that he’s angry that the needs of another being are being considered so intricately. Let’s put that a bit more succinctly – Aziraphale is choosing to put another being’s needs before Crowley’s. And that particular being has a history of being nothing less than vile to both of them, especially Aziraphale. In true Aziracrow style though the angel misses his cue, only hearing the bit in the sentence where his involvement in Crowley’s life is seemingly dismissed so easily. It’s really not dismissed that simply though – look at how difficult Crowley finds it to say just how much his current situation means to him:

See the little shuddering breath he takes before he says “peaceful”? Or maybe the stuttering hand movement that goes with it? It makes me wonder if there was another word he really wanted to say here but had to stop himself from saying it, forcing himself to choose another one. And then there’s the use of the word “here” at the end of the sentence. Does he mean Earth? London? Personally I think it’s a little more localised than that – I think “here” means Aziraphale’s bookshop. I don’t think I’m the only one that thinks that either – look at the disbelief on the angel’s face as he tries to claim their collective efforts back:

And from here, it really starts to descend into madness. Honestly, I think it’s Crowley that actually starts it – his response to Aziraphale trying to claw back their togetherness is to subtextually accuse the angel of actually working against him. Well done, Crowley, you really flipped Aziraphale’s switch there, and he’s wearing the face to prove it.

Look at that jaw: this angel has made his decision people – if the demon wants to be that spiteful, he can do it somewhere else. But he doesn’t just tell Crowley to leave, does he? He accuses him of failing to fulfil his role as the rescuer, the protector.

And he doesn’t just accuse him of failing, he intimates that it’s something Crowley is actively choosing to do. You can see Aziraphale knows how badly (and probably how hurtful) his words are in two places – the first is right before he says them:

The other is in the middle of the sentence where he tells Crowley to leave – he takes a shuddering breath of his own that you can hear more than see. Honestly, I find it a little heartbreaking. Not as heartbreaking as the look on Crowley’s face after Aziraphale has uttered his ultimatum though.

Oof, that expression hits me hard. There’s so much here that isn’t being said. The slight recoil after Aziraphale finishes speaking, the half gulp he takes before he speaks, the hand gesture- THE HAND GESTURE PEOPLE. The one that indicates there is an “us” involved in this conversation.

And let’s not forget the line.

CROWLEY: Oh really. This is just- this is how you wanna do it?

That feels like such a death-toll of a line to me. The subtext feels like he’s asking Aziraphale if this is how he wants the relationship to flounder. Thank Somebody that Aziraphale doesn’t leave him hanging for an answer, because I think this that would break me, and thank Somebody else that when he does reply, his true feelings are painfully apparent.

And it’s not just his face leaking emotions here – let’s look at his instinctive choice of words:

AZIRAPHALE: I would love you to help me.

Not “I would lovefor you to help me”, not “I’m asking you to help me”, or “I’d like you to help me”. Not even a stubborn “I want you to help me”. No, he says “I would love you to help me”. He’s said too much. Crowley’s expression tells him as much.

For once it seems like he gets the message too, because he changes his phrasing:

AZIRAPHALE: I am asking you to help me take care of him.

Because you never know who could be watching or listening do you? After all, Gabriel could be right outside the door listening in. I feel like Crowley is on the verge of caving here, desperate though he is for the angel to hear his frightened pleas, but he’s not given enough time. Why doesn’t Aziraphale know by now that if you push this demon too hard and too fast, he’s going to run? There’s even a noise in the soundtrack here that sounds like a snake hissing – I don’t know if that was the intention, but it definitely gives me the sense that this is Crowley reverting to his expected demonic traits.

Right, final time I’m going to talk about this, I promise – we’re going back to the Eccles cakes.

There they are, front and centre of the shot as Crowley leaves the bookshop. They are in fact the only things totally in focus in that shot. We’ll see Crowley make a conscious effort to retrieve his glasses from the horse statue, but the Eccles cakes will stay there, abandoned and untouched. This was actually the shot that made my mind up about these – Aziraphale got them for Crowley. He was supposed to eat them and be all calm about the matter. But of course he didn’t – he probably thought he was going to get to watch his angel eating them later that day as a reward for his playing the knight in shining armour. I’m kind of glad he didn’t eat them to be honest, otherwise we might never have gotten to see the Apology Dance…

That feels like a good place to stop for this part. It has taken me way too long to get through this small section, but I have to say I was kind of expecting it – there’s always so much to say about the angsty scenes in this show, and what with this being the first episode of the second season, it was also going to have a bunch of narrative set-up to talk about too. It’s interesting that I’ve already written more words for this episode than the most words I wrote for any single episode in season one, and I’m only about two thirds of the way through. My methods are either getting more refined or I’m waffling far too much – please do tell me if you think it’s the latter, because I’m really enjoying this journey with you all and I don’t want you to be bored!

So with that, and as always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome. See you for the next one!

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

This week I have mostly been reading...

Jun 3rd – 9th, 2024

Whoops, apologies everyone, I’m a bit late with what is now last week’s round up. Better late than never, right? Right.

Completed works I've read this week:

Oddity by @tsyvia48 Rated E - Actor C is contracted by (useless) Gabriel to guest curate an exhibition at the museum where A works. After getting off on the wrong foot, can they work together to pull off this show? This was in my WIP list and has now been completed *cries in a corner*

Garden of Delights series by @zehwulf Rated E – Rough Enough last week sent me on a little BDSM flavoured journey this week. This 10-part human AU series is *significantly* harder than Rough Enough, although A continues to have his soft Dom personality. I thoroughly enjoyed Crowley’s gender fluidity, as I identify as genderfluid myself. There are some very particular kinks in this series, and a SERIOUS CW for consensual non-consent (CNC) in multiple stories within this series. There is an underlying psychological growth within the series, though, which is interesting to unpick. Which, when I read this back, looks like me giving weird reasons for reading kinky smut. I give no excuses for reading kinky smut. I enjoy smut and certain types of kink. I also enjoy teasing out angst and psychological growth. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. But, erm, no chicken dinners in my smut, thanks. Not into that. But if you are, by all means…

A Tempting Night of Wine and Kisses by LemonTart Rated E – in-universe, but not canon-compliant, this is interestingly part 2 of a series, but the first kiss between A & C doesn’t happen until this second part – despite the first part also being very much E rated. This leads to this one-shot being much more tender and loving. Which was particularly soothing after 10 BDSM stories 😂 It was a bit like my own aftercare

love not given lightly by @hakunahistata Rated E – Hmmm, I’m starting to sense a pattern in last week’s reading…it all seems to be raaaather smutty. So apologies if that’s not your thing. *coughs* Anyway, blame Rough Enough, this is another Gentle/Soft Dom A fic. The story starts off with C snapping at A upon their very first meeting that he’s “fine”…coz, you know, that’s what all completely fine people say…

Ngk Ngk Ngk by ForFucksSakeJim Rated E – There is only one thing I can say about this one: Ngk.

The Beginning of the End (Again) by @addledmongoose Rated M – A Post GO2 fic with a brilliant plot idea. I really enjoyed it AND it’s written in the first person (alternating) POV. I’ve never read a fic in this POV and I can genuinely say I enjoyed it and I congratulate the author on making it work so well. There is a lot of humour in this story as well, which I enjoyed and, hey, look, it's not a smutty-smut one. Although it’s definitely not innocent. I loved the character of Duke Asmodeus as well. Highly recommend. 

WIPs which have updated this week (which I devour as soon as I get the update!)

There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out by @phoen1xr0se Rated M - A is a researcher (puffins!), C is a lighthouse keeper on the island where A has run away to to escape his problems and do his research. The author has recently spent a week studying puffins - which is the ultimate dedication, if you ask me. Ch 10/26 posted so far

Find The Light by @klikandtuna Rated E - Headmaster A and Rockstar C. The story teases out a fraught history between them whilst keeping a tension between them in the modern day. Ch 11/15 posted so far

Under The Summer Stars by @pannotbread Rated E - This wonderful fic has taught me more about physics than school ever did (mostly because I never did any physics, but...well). A & C have to share their time at an observatory because there is Only One Telescope. Not only will you learn about astrophysics, astrobiology, and astroecology, you'll also read some of the most poetically, beautifully written masturbation scenes I've ever seen. *ahem* Ch 8/13 posted so far

Poetry Carved In Flesh by @fellandcrow Rated E – Tattoo enthusiast A becomes a fan of tattooist C’s work, but doesn’t have any tattoos himself. C convinces him to get tattoos…but due to distance, A can’t get any work done by C. Until C comes to see him. This fic has GORGEOUS artwork, and speaks to my tattoo-obsessed soul. It’s an A-falls-first-C-falls-harder story, which is always fun. It also features ghostrat’s Nice and Accurate fandom. Ch 7/16 posted so far

Exodus_2 by @tismrot Rated E – Human AU set in a dystopian future. The summary says it best, really: Ezra studies programming at the University of ha-Gan. He’s as determined as he is damaged, as fastidious as he is precise, and likes to believe he'll stop at nothing to achieve his goals. His beliefs are challenged when a new student appears late to the first Ethics module lecture - and his life is changed forever. It's the future, it's dystopian, it's cyber and it's punk. It's political, grimy and slick with tears, lube and chemical snot. TW: Sex, drugs, trauma. Ch 30/35 posted so far

Free by well, me: imposterssyndrome Rated E - A & C meet (again?) in an acute mental health ward after both having had mental health crises. A runs a bookshop but is very much under his parents' control. C has been homeless since childhood and has struggled his entire life. They do not trust each other when they first meet, but feel strangely drawn to one another all the same. Where will this lead them? This is a passion piece for me. There is a lot of lived experience in it, and extensive research from both professionals and peers. It has been a real journey for me to write it, and as I'm coming closer to the end it's becoming very emotional for me. Ch 53/57 so far - on the home stretch now everyone!

Want to see more recs? This is last week's list.

[depraveddame]

Ineffable Kinktober, Day 13: Somnophilia ✨🌙

CWs: Mildly dubious consent, somnophilia, CNC elements, Eden, bottom Crowley, top Aziraphale, Crowley has a vulva, Aziraphale has a penis, roleplay, squirting, under negotiated kink, and more- please check tags and notes on ao3!

*

The moon is high in the sky, bathing everything in its luminous embrace of pearly light, and Aziraphale once again cannot sleep. When he cannot rest, he usually will wander the garden, listening to the nightingales and blackbirds, doing his best not to wonder where his adversary might be at that very moment (and usually failing), and tonight it is no different.

His feet tickle pleasantly as they land on moss and grass, lush and damp and verdant, and Aziraphale smiles as he goes, thinking about how Crawley seems to delight in flora more than anyone else in the garden until he hears something— a strangled yet indisputable whimper.

It’s coming from the glade just beyond where Aziraphale comes to a stop, and he freezes as his eyes fall onto the prone, human form of Crawley, lying on his stomach on the lush grass of the tiny clearing, illuminated by moonlight streaming down through the break in the canopy of trees, and though he appears to be asleep, he is not still.

He’s writhing on the ground, Aziraphale realizes as he steps closer, quieter than the mice he’s watched silently scurry around Eden, his lower body is surging and twisting, and he freezes as his ears pick up on a devastatingly sweet, sleep slurred whine:

“…please…pleassse, it hurtssss…”

Somehow the tendril of that hiss trailing off into the dark finds its way to Aziraphale’s fluttering heart, where it joins with his heartstrings and plucks at them like a harp. What is hurting Crawley, he wonders? Could it be memories of The Fall, haunting him in his sleep? He supposes there are any number of specters that could be tormenting a demon’s slumber, and as the cries continue, Aziraphale’s worry grows.

As he frets and ponders, though, something else manifests between his legs in a heat that’s as frightening as it is exhilarating, as it is animal— it reminds Aziraphale that he should not be feeling anything like it while this close to a demon, let alone in regards to one, and even less so one that is presumably in distress. He doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling as he draws closer to the beautiful sight, but he knows it isn’t right, whatever it is; just another sin to add to his mounting transgressions against God, but the worry of another being’s safety is stronger than the fear of doing wrong by ensuring it.

“Crawley,” Aziraphale whispers quietly once he stands a pace away from his mark, not wanting to startle the demon, “Crawley, what is it— are you hurt?”

Crawley freezes on the forest floor there for a second before he resumes moving again, and it looks like he’s rutting against the grass; his hips cant down into it, his fingers dig themselves into the patch of moss his head lay on, and a fractured burst of breath is followed by yet another shaky, thready plea: “oh, p-please, please…n-need…”

Aziraphale swallows, but finds he can’t— his throat is very thick and dry all of a sudden as he stares down at the demon, and his voice is one he doesn’t recognize as he asks, low and trembling, heated, “what is it, my dear, what do you need? How can I help?”

“Please…inside, hurtsss ins-side, want you inssside…angel…”

*

@quefish77

[goatbeard-goatbeard]

“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand.

Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it?

On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone — while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?

❦

Will the wild ox consent to serve you? Will it stay by your manger at night?

Can you hold it to the furrow with a harness?

Will it till the valleys behind you?

Will you rely on it for its great strength?

Will you leave your heavy work to it?

Can you trust it to haul in your grain

and bring it to your threshing floor?”

Job 38:4-7, 39:9-12 (NIV)

❦

It feels like such a Choice to have the Job episode right before the one about resurrectionists. The one that shows even angels failing to bring back the dead, when human doctors are juuuuust about to learn how to do it.

The central question of Job’s story is “why do bad things happen to good people?” And one answer is: do enough science, and we can stop God from fucking with them.

Domesticate the ox to fill Job’s herd. Study different animals to heal Job’s disease. Count the clouds, find the storehouses of snow, and plug them into our weather models so we can evacuate Job’s children before the mighty wind.

Can Crowley call lightning and have it report back to him? Sure. But so can all the electronic doors and lights and phones that he zaps. All the technology that’s so mundane to us that it doesn’t even register as an answer to God’s challenge. Crowley is doing flashier versions of our miracles — the serpent of Eden standing in for all human science. He’s the shiny car, he’s the astrophysics, he’s the lightning in the wires.

He’s also the low-grade evil of car-based infrastructure, the glitchy cell towers, and the one that officially set armageddon in motion. Technology is tricky like that. Will the wild ox consent to serve you?

[autisticandroids]

ive had a tab open to send u this for like 3 days and i keep forgetting so its fine if u dont wanna do more directors commentaries (love when u do directors commentaries) but i would love to read more about so much smoke in a hall of mirrors <333

[the goal here is to provide a director’s commentary, a la the one i did for i fold in half so easily, though obviously less comprehensive. this commentary is for so much smoke in a hall of mirrors.]

lmao this is the one i've been waiting to be asked about. well, one of them.

“You know, he still isn't going to fuck you,” said Crowley, stooped over the lifeless body of a vampire and currently pulling out its fangs with forceps. The gray lighting of the lab turned the bloody work into a flat and distant thing, as empty as the flesh Crowley played with.

In lieu of replying, Castiel stared at him. He was too exhausted from the political situation in Heaven to try to parse Crowley’s meaning, and besides, Crowley could generally be counted upon to elaborate on his cryptic remarks if left to his own devices. This time proved no exception, but Castiel found Crowley’s elaboration no more enlightening: “Dean Winchester. He isn't going to fuck you just because you're God. Unless you make him, but you holy rollers are rather big on gaining consent before entry, far as I know.” Crowley leered. “I somehow don't think you'd be satisfied with that, anyway. Aren’t you Mr. Free Will, these days? Leading the downtrodden celestials to liberty?”

love to set some shit up <3. lines of consent will be crossed in this story. and cas won't be satisfied by it.

“What are you suggesting, Crowley?” Castiel narrowed his eyes. Every moment of this distraction was another moment they weren’t finding Purgatory, another moment that the war raged on, but Castiel could not keep himself from Crowley’s bait. “Why would my goal be for Dean to fuck me?”

“Exclusive top, are you?” Crowley smirked, still not looking up.

“What?”

“Oh, nevermind.” Crowley went on with his work. Castiel walked over to him.

crowley voice have you forgotten that you're the bottom in this relationship

“Why are you insinuating that I want to have sex with Dean Winchester.” It was a question, but it somehow became a statement in Castiel’s mouth. He found himself trying to loom in Crowley’s direction, his wings tense and ready to show themselves. Crowley finally looked up.

“My God, you really don’t know, do you? I can’t believe I have to give The Talk to an angel, didn’t you watch Adam and Eve frolicking in the Garden or something?”

“I am aware–” Castiel began, starting forward, but Crowley cut him off.

“Doesn’t it hurt you? To see him with that woman?” 

The question hung in the air. 

Crowley looked at him as time stretched on. Castiel tried to answer.

“Dean and Lisa are… happy together.” He knew that his reply was inadequate. He knew that was not what Crowley had asked. Crowley knew as well, judging by the smirk he was sporting.

“What is it, exactly, that you want from Dean? Have you ever asked yourself that?”

“I want Dean to be happy. I want him safe.” Castiel stared Crowley down.

“That’s not all you want, feathers,” Crowley leered. 

“Then tell me, then, Crowley,” Castiel advanced on the demon, who momentarily looked less sure of himself. “ What is it that I want?”

“You?” Crowley, regaining his composure, looked Castiel up and down, “I’d wager you’d like Dean naked on silk sheets with… hmm… fuzzy pink handcuffs? The really vanilla kind that close with velcro. Maybe a ball gag.”

It was the disrespect that got to Castiel. Not the disrespect to himself, but the disrespect to Dean. The disrespect of Crowley painting such a vivid picture with his words. Castiel could see it in full color. 

His blade was at Crowley’s throat before he could think about it. He had his vessel’s hand around Crowley’s tie, and he’d shoved him against the wall. Crowley looked gratifyingly afraid.

“Do not speak of him like that.” Castiel could feel his wings unfurling almost of their own accord, and he watched Crowley cringe.

“Calm down, angel,” Crowley gasped. “Good lord. I’ll make a mental note that you get hot and bothered when you’re hot and bothered.” 

crowley is obviously right here. this is the first of many moments in this fic where cas reacts to the triggering of his own desires with violence. like, crowley talking about dean in a sexy way forces cas to confront his own desires. which cas reacts to with violence because he can't process it. it's a loss of control that cas can't accept or deal with. like, desire is terrifying to cas it's so big and powerful and he can't escape it. and at the same time cas does, in canon, have a history of... equivocating between sex and violence, let's say. i'm not the first person to point out the erotic charge in his shoving dean against the wall in 4x22, or in 5x18, for example. there's his interactions with meg in 5x10, which blur the lines between sex and violence very effectively, and of course there's the famous crowley wall shove in 6x20. obviously i've argued in the past that that this non-sexual physicalization of sexual desire as a kind of naivete re: sexuality and i still think that's true. like cas is naive and he's acting out sexuality without understanding exactly what he's acting out like this bird that can't figure out why is isn't eating the worm, or at least, he is in seasons four and five. here, in the period between seasons five and six, cas is in his own kind of transitional place. he still lacks a certain level of awareness but he knows a little more now. he knows enough to feel uncomfortable, ashamed, afraid. he hasn't named what it is he wants to himself yet, but he's getting there. but anyway, cas attacks crowley partly because his own desire terrifies him, and partly because being caught by someone else in the act of experiencing that desire terrifies him and makes him ashamed, but also partly just because he's acting out a sort of erotic physicality.

Castiel yanked on Crowley’s tie, and he gagged. He stared into Crowley’s terrified eyes as the demon struggled for breath, holding Crowley inside his vessel with a wing over his mouth. 

Then Castiel let him go.

Crowley coughed. He looked up at Castiel, angry and wary.

“Let no one say I don’t keep my enemies closer.”

Castiel stared at Crowley for a long moment. Then he took flight, not caring where he would land.

so! i wrote this whole scene basically as it is with very few alterations in december 2020. i then did not touch it for months, because i really needed to kind of rework WHAT the fic was, y'know.

-

“Barachiel, Zephon, Nuriel, Cambiel, Arakiel, Kokabiel, Uziel, Netzach. All dead,” Rachel said. “We should never have attacked the Seventh Layer.”

i spent so much time looking at lists of angels online to get these names. and THEN making sure they weren't in supernatural. because this fic is canon compliant and all these angels are dead. nuriel is specifically a reference to @spriteofmushrooms' fic though.

“It was our best option,” Castiel said, looking away. “We need access to the Conduits.”

“I don’t see how the Conduits can help us without a source of power. We should focus on conquering Heavens.” Her vessel’s nostrils flared. She was learning to use it to emote, it seemed.

“We need to be able to travel the Firmament freely.”  She was right, of course. The Conduits were nearly tactically useless. But she didn’t see the big picture, and how could she? She would never understand what he had to do. This war wasn’t going to be won on the battlefield.

i was really concerned with this section. i wasn't sure it appropriately conveyed exactly what's happening. essentially cas and his revolutionaries are fighting a literally unwinnable war. they're outgunned and outnumbered. so cas is essentially just trying to keep his little revolution going long enough that his plan with crowley works out, because once he's god he'll be able to win the war for them. which means that his strategic decisions now don't really matter. he will always be sending his soldiers to die in unwinnable battles, because he can't TELL them that because they will turn on him. like, as much as working with crowley and becoming god is really his best choice here, they're angels, and they haven't had free will for all that long. they're not gonna get past their prejudice against demons, they're not going to get past their discomfort with blasphemy, and they're not going to get that sometimes you have to make tradeoffs. so all he can do is lie and abandon them to die while he sits in fantasy los alamos trying to make the bomb.

“Perhaps if you’d been there–” She turned from him, unable to handle what she herself was implying. 

He wished he could tell them all where he’d been, what he’d been doing. Instead, he gritted his teeth. Once Purgatory was open…

-

“Losing, are we, Cas?” Crowley managed smug even as he squinted against the light of the Grace Castiel was spilling from a cut on his vessel’s right arm. Shameful relief that the battle was over flooded him. Yes, I am, Castiel thought, that’s why I need you. Outwardly, he scowled. 

Crowley took his lack of response in stride: “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got little old me in your pocket. Come see what Daddy’s brought for you to play with.” He made an expansive gesture to the three alphas: siren, arachne, and ghoul, bound in warded restraints to metal rings in the wall of his lab.

we as a society need to acknowledge crowstiel daddy kink and how it could kinda bang. but like more seriously i do think of crowley as thinking of himself in season six as kind of taking cas under his wing, mentoring him, and specifically mentoring him in sin and moral ambiguity. and, crowley being crowley, he sexualizes everything. he's like dean, it's a defense for him, a way of eschewing vulnerability. hence, this absolutely rancid dialogue moment.

“Good.” Castiel nearly spat the word. He hated to praise a demon, but Crowley had done well. Surely one of these creatures could lead them on the road to Purgatory.

like his brethren, cas really hasn't gotten over his ingrained prejudice against demons, although he recognizes he needs crowley anyway. a lot of this fic is really about like. cas getting over himself. it's about him working through his sense of propriety. which is maybe good and maybe bad, but it's what he has to do in the situation that he's in.

He investigated each using tendrils of God’s Grace. The siren was in the worst condition, a line of ichor oozing from its mouth. Still, it was the only one to attempt to speak to him.

it can smell your weakness boy.

“Castiel,” it hissed, and coughed. A siren’s glamor was meant to show a human their ideal lover, but through the eyes of an angel it was only a soft, appealing glow about the naked, withered creature’s body. Their passive telepathy, however, apparently still worked fine. 

:3

Castiel cut the bindings on the arachne. He had work to do.

-

Rachel had said to him, “ Raphael’s forces are overwhelming. Dozens of angels have died, Castiel. And you… we don’t even know where you go. How can an army succeed if its commander is an absentee?”

And he’d said. He hadn’t said anything. He had nodded. But Rachel had been summoned by one of her lieutenants. And Castiel had found himself in Lisa Braeden’s kitchen, watching Dean stir powdered pudding into a pot of hot milk. 

cas is also in this fic like. crucially his situation is simply very painful and stressful. so he's avoiding it. as is his wont. he's procrastinating. he doesn't i've said this before but the biggest thing dean is for cas in season six is a distraction. like, specifically an illicit one. he's neglecting his duties, and worse he's doing it for illicit reasons, and this is very shameful for him but it's also like. the only bright spot in his day. like, season six deancas thesis for cas is 6x10 "much of the time, i'd rather be here." he doesn't want to go watch his soldiers die. so he takes a little break. also originally the pudding was going to be custard because my family go wild for some bird's custard but americans don't eat that.

The woman and child were in the other room with the television, but the house was large enough that they could not be heard, even as Castiel sensed their presence. So Castiel watched Dean in his solitude, as he twirled the whisk in his skilled fingers, and reminded himself that this was what he was fighting for. 

-

“I’ve brought you a gift.” Crowley grinned. 

“A gift?” Castiel was perplexed.

“Took rather a bit of work, if I do say so myself. I was planning to save it until we actually succeeded, but then I thought, well, wouldn’t that be a bit pointless? Once you’re God , you’ll have whatever you please.” Castiel did not flinch. The obscenity that he and Crowley had planned was nothing short of a necessity. Crowley was still smiling. “And you look like you need a bit of cheering up. Politics doesn’t suit you.” 

making it clear here: cas doesn't want to become god. it's blasphemous and it makes him uncomfortable. but something must be done.

“I see.” Castiel waited for Crowley to finish monologuing.

“Well, don’t you want to see it?” Crowley asked, giving Castiel a theatrical pout.

Castiel disliked being forced to agree to something, even if they weren’t exactly sealing a deal, but he was curious.

“Alright.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, and before Castiel stood– stood–

His own senses and the senses of his vessel told him different stories as to what stood before him. 

He couldn’t… see it. There was nothing there. A whiff of something constructed and artificial, but it was… absent. Mindless. Soulless. 

But it was there. It stood before him, and cast a shadow on the floor. A masterwork of molecules, a symphony of chemical and structural engineering, a tapestry of bone and sinew and nerves and blood and beating heart.

And his vessel’s senses told him… 

A male human, nude and perfect. Full lips wet, glistening eyes wide, broad shoulders well-proportioned, sculpted muscles shining, soft skin tanned, flaccid penis large and shapely, strong buttocks beautifully rounded, long legs slender and graceful. It was–

Dean.

Castiel looked over at Crowley, and as soon as he did, cursed himself. He was sure his inner state showed on his face.

“Well, do you like it?” Crowley grinned at him. “The body wasn’t much of a hardship. The construction of flesh is well within my demonic purview. But giving it enough of a mind for any purpose you might want, that’s a little trick I learned from my dearest mother. A touch of magic comes in handy when attempting to construct a homunculus consciousness.” Castiel could only stare. 

really important that i have crowley mention rowena as much as possible. someday i will write a fic where i explore his mommy issues.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the thing – the Dean – blinked. Focused on Castiel. Its lips parted in a small oh.

“How may I please you?” the voice was… The voice was just right, as well, and how could it be otherwise, coming from that throat? How could it be anything but perfect?

“You–” Castiel forced himself to look away, and stared at Crowley instead. He found himself without human language. His Grace (God’s Grace) sang, and he was suddenly, disgustingly grateful that none of his brothers knew where he was. He didn’t know what it was he was feeling in that moment, but he felt a pang of terror that whatever it was might show in the wavelengths of his wings or the rotation of his polytopes. 

i thought a lot about angel trueforms and how to do them in this fic. i essentially settled on like. not describing except for like. some random details that clearly don't gel, in order to convey alienness. i also leaned on some like. themes. cas is more geometric than most angels. he has polytopes and 5-manifolds. overall it's important to me that angels are creatures that like. exist as almost mathematical constructs? they interact very directly with the laws of physics.

“You’re right, by the way. He’s absolutely exquisite.” Crowley added, and Castiel snapped back to himself.

Crowley had made this thing. Crowley had made this thing, all the while salivating over Dean’s– over some imitation of Dean’s body. Appreciating it for sexual pleasure. Possibly even making use of it in some manner. Castiel felt the throat of his vessel constrict somehow. 

“How dare you. How dare you– you– you–” Castiel lost his words again, but he knew that he felt rage. He didn’t need language. He brought up his hand and snapped the fingers, sending a pulse of Grace into that beautiful, empty body. 

again we have cas enacting violence when confronted with his own desires but this time, it's much more obviously erotic. cas is sending his grace into dean's empty body, resulting in a wet explosion. this was absolutely an erotic act or rather a re-channelling of erotic desire.

The sound of the explosion was… wet.

Crowley blinked at him, soaked from head to toe in gore, just like the rest of the lab, and Castiel’s own vessel. Castiel cleaned himself of the remains of the thing he had disintegrated and flew away, leaving Crowley to clean things up.

-

“Rahab, Bariel, Lahabiel, Nelchael, Soqedhozi, Armisael, Zachriel, Oriel,” Rachel said.

-

Lisa Braeden’s sofa was wide, and Castiel was grateful for that. It meant that while she and Dean sat, his arm slung over her shoulders, Castiel could perch on the arm without fear of accidental contact that might weaken the glamor that hid his vessel. 

The child was in bed. The television discussed some sort of upcoming human societal upheaval Castiel believed was called an election. Red bars with different statistics filled the screen.

haha i love to make jokes

“Why are we watching this, baby?” Dean murmured. “You know I don’t care about politics.” Castiel saw him running a hand up her thigh. She wore a skirt, pale gray and pleated. Dean’s hand dipped under the hem of it, and she giggled.

or not. obviously this is like. dean is saying this because like. he also wouldn't care about cas' angel war. which is why cas isn't involving him. cas is like. so alone he really can't trust or be honest with anyone but crowley and he hates crowley. and this line exists to make him feel even lonelier because it reinforces that dean wouldn't care.

“Turn it off, then, if you want.” Castiel could see her wriggling, repositioning her hips. Dean leant forward to kiss her. With the hand that had been on her thigh, Dean blindly poked at the coffee table until his hand found a black bar covered in colorful buttons. He pressed one with his thumb, and Castiel felt a signal zip through the air, jolting his celestial form where it brushed against the edges of this plane. His vessel stiffened. The screen went black.

this is one of the reasons it's important that angels are like. mathematical constructs of physical laws. like to be clear cas parsed that - dean accidentally sending a sensory stimulus to his trueform because cas is made of light and physics and so are the infrared signals that come out of a tv remove - as a kind of erotic touch. dean has accidentally touched cas in a way he should not, as a human, be able to. it's intimate and jarring and arousing.

The two humans turned inward, making their lovers’ motions, locked at the lips. Castiel found himself mostly watching Dean's back. Dean returned his hand to Lisa’s skirt, pressing under it and tugging. Lisa writhed as though she were attempting to escape from some bond. 

A moment later all was clarified as a pair of dark cotton briefs slid down her legs, and Dean assisted her in kicking them off. Castiel was curious. He had rarely had the opportunity to stay and watch so long, and this was a new activity.

to be clear: this is sexual violence, on cas' part. against both dean and lisa. he's watching them have sex without their knowledge, on purpose. he's not that naive. but he's miserable, and he Wants, so he takes.

Dean began making a new motion, a pumping and rolling of his elbow and, from what Castiel could tell, unable to see under Lisa's skirt, of his wrist. Lisa stiffened, her eyes closing and mouth opening. She gasped as though in pain. Or– oh .

Dean was using his hand to simulate the act of breeding. He was putting long, slender yet work-roughened fingers – two? three? – into her vagina and stroking her from the inside, putting the deftness of hands used to field stripping rifles to a new purpose. Surely Dean’s callouses deepened the sensation, and Castiel could understand easily why Lisa might desire this particular act. 

cas fantasizing about having dean's fingers in his celestial pussy <3

She spoke, but Castiel did not hear it, too focused on the flex of Dean’s bicep, on Dean's other hand cupping Lisa's face (it must feel so warm), on the curve of Dean’s back as he followed through on the motion of his arm over and over. 

But suddenly Dean was drawing back, tugging at his shirt, revealing acres of golden, sweat-shiny flesh. There was the sound of a zipper, and Castiel could not see, but he understood what it must mean.

Castiel watched as Lisa spat in her hand, reaching between Dean's legs. He could hear Dean's heart rate increase, the slick sounds as Lisa pleasured him. Dean's hips shifted, and his jeans fell slightly, revealing just the tops of sculpted buttocks. 

Then: a crinkling. Dean was reaching into his pocket, arm at an odd angle. The maneuver shoved his jeans down further, revealing more perfect flesh. 

It wasn't until Dean retrieved the square packet that Castiel understood. Of course. A rubber sheath. That favored human method of thwarting God’s will. Castiel wondered why it was necessary: what human female would not wish to be sown with Dean's seed? Was he not the ideal mate, strong and beautiful in body, quick and cutting in mind, generous and loving in spirit, a God among men? Castiel felt the lips of his vessel part slightly.

Perhaps Dean had denied her. That must be it.

so i had already written this part when @pregstiel published in the darkness (of this gas'n'sip) which has a really similar moment and i immediately messaged her like oh my god mind. anyway castiel mpreg moments.

The pair shifted, reorganizing themselves until Lisa’s legs were thrown about Dean’s waist as he held himself over her, one hand on the back of the couch for support and the other clutching Lisa to him as he thrusted. 

And Dean was thrusting now, the muscles of his back rippling under his skin, his jeans resting halfway down his thighs, exposing his ass and the top of his thighs, also tensing and flexing with the strain. Soft, wet slaps came from between the two bodies. Lisa’s hand snaked under Dean’s armpit and squeezed his jutting shoulder blade.

Lisa wrenched herself up, pressing her body closer to Dean’s, and now Castiel could just see her face over Dean’s shoulder. He watched as her mouth stretched into a cry, and then another. With each sound, Dean seemed to move faster, as though egged on. These vocalizations held some power over him.

Castiel found himself imitating the rounding of Lisa’s lips.

He sent a tendril of Grace down her throat, examining her mouth, her larynx, her lungs with his celestial senses. The way her vocal folds vibrated during each moan, the pressure of her breath, the shape her tongue took. He contorted his vessel’s own vocal folds, attempting to use his Grace to reshape them to the right tension to achieve a similar frequency, and, just experimentally, raised his voice alongside hers. 

this is my favorite he like touches and fondles her body with a kind of erotic fascination without her knowledge. again like this scene is sexual violence. not because he wants her but because he is jealously obsessed with her. also this paragraph lead to like a multi-hour argument/hash out with @restlesshush who is a linguistics major because i wasn't doing the anatomy right at first which i fixed but THEN i wrote some stuff that was like correct but insufficiently clear? like using both vocal folds and vocal cords even though they're the same thing out of synonym avoidance. anyway to be clear here cas is quite literally (temporarily) changing the physical nature of his vessel to be more like lisa. he is single white femaling that woman rn.

She could not hear him, of course. Nor could Dean. But still their cries were in chorus as Dean fucked her.

-

“You know, it’s an absolute joy to watch you work,” Crowley said. His hot breath ghosted over Castiel’s vessel’s ear. “All in control like that. You’re nearly… Godlike. ”

crowley doing his best to get cas to get over himself. like part of the reason crowley is doing this is because he recognizes, reasonably, that cas' hangups (various) will be a problem. and part of the reason is that torturing cas is fun. and part of the reason is that is makes him feel, like i said, like a mentor and corrupter. and he likes that. it makes him feel more powerful. and he needs that because he's working alongside a volatile creature who could crush him like a bug lol.

Castiel paid it no mind. It did not matter. All that mattered was information. All that mattered was a gate to Purgatory. All that mattered was an end to the war, once and for all.

If only Rachel could see him now.

“Answer the question,” he told the siren as it trembled.

“I told you, I don’t know.” Its dry voice was interrupted by a string of wet, hacking coughs. “I’d never even heard of Purgatory before you started,” it stopped to hack again, “asking about it.”

Castiel thrust his vessel’s hand into the glistening wound in the siren’s belly, sinking in up to the wrist. This was something he could do. Something he could affect. Sirens had little in terms of internal structure, but they did experience sensation, and Castiel took full advantage. He spread his fingers in the stringy moistness as the siren screamed. Wetness dripped out around him, soaking the sleeve of his coat. He shoved his hand in further, nearly to the elbow, twisting his wrist, and gray ichor began to pour from the siren’s nose and mouth. It shuddered, convulsing around him.

FIST! THAT! WOUNDPUSSY! and thrust inside a moist body and cause it to shudder around you.

Warm fluid splashed across his face,  dripping from his eyelashes and running down his cheekbones. The siren’s venom. It had spurted from the glands in the thing’s mouth. An instinctual response to save itself. Castiel spat, not wanting to risk falling prey to some effect, even knowing that as an angel the siren should hold no power over him.

cumshot. you guys know the drill. anyway cas voice i'm a good little angel boy i will not experience The Effect. no desire here! the siren cannot control me! i'm not anxious about that at all!

The siren jerked. It wasn’t a death throe, sirens had rather specific death requirements. But Castiel presumed that the creature wished it was one. He twisted his wrist again.

fist him!!!!

He felt Crowley give a pleased exhale, and withdrew his arm from the siren’s body. It barely twitched, hanging limp from its bonds.

Castiel reached out with his Grace. He needed to heal the siren’s injuries. It was too defeated now, in too much pain to care if more occurred.

But.

A mistake.

He glanced at the creature not with his celestial perception, but through his vessel’s vision.

Liquid green eyes stared back at him, set just above cut cheekbones. Plush lips spattered with blood formed the word please.

A gentle caress of Grace became a burning, cleansing flood, and he and Crowley were left staring at the ash where the siren had stood. 

his grace is literally IN the siren and then he sees the sexy deansiren face and experiences an uncontrollable surge of energy. like if there is one thing that is absolutely going on in this fic it's that cas' grace is a sexual organ. that's very clear earlier with the dean doll, and it's clear with the tv remote, and it's clear when he puts his grace in lisa to explore her body. but it's also an instrument of violence because cas like still hasn't really differentiated the two, though he's working on it. he comes in the siren and it dies. at the same time, he's still also motivated by the terror of his own desire. and he's also motivated by the affection he has for dean. the siren was begging for death and it was using dean's face. that's going to get under cas' skin.

Crowley rounded on him.

“What the Hell did you do that for?”

“It had nothing left to tell us,” Castiel said, voice bland. “We’ll have to find another alpha.”

Crowley scowled.

-

Castiel spun, neatly dodging an attack against his easternmost obelisk and deflecting with his left 5-manifold. His attacker whipped another thickly scaled, ultraviolet lizard tail at him, but he ducked into a local pocket universe, then took advantage of the opening left by the strike. 

again like it's important to me that angels are constructs of the laws of physics. they can do things like duck into pocket universes.

All of Hadraniel’s eyes focused on Castiel for a moment, and then on the blade piercing Hadraniel’s own molten core. Castiel wished he could make that final moment of life last for centuries. Millennia. He wished he could make his apologies, that he could just explain to Hadraniel why. Why it had to be this way. Tell her that life would be better, for all angels, once this civil war was over. Tell her that there would be freedom. But most of all, Castiel wished that Hadraniel had never been here at all. That this death hadn’t happened. That none of the deaths on this battlefield had happened. That there was no need to fight. If he could make them understand–

Then a wave of God’s Grace washed over him, and Hadraniel was no more.

i was kind of torn here because originally all these angels used he/him pronouns because i liked the idea that all angels use he/him pronouns. or more accurately they use a neutral pronoun that is translated to he/him because they are genderless. but i was worried that that might get confusing with rachel so i pussied out. embarrassing.

Castiel turned back to the fray, and saw Phounebiel rushing him. He met Phounebiel blade to blade, the impact sending ripple through the eleventh plane, where their swords met. But Castiel was a Seraph now, and Phounebiel still only a Malakh, as Castiel had once been. It was easy to overpower him, and Castiel forced their intersecting blades forward until Phounebiel died by his own sword. 

Phounebiel had taken time to consider Castiel’s pitch, when Castiel came asking for him to join the ranks of Castiel’s rebels. He had almost agreed. But he had hesitated. He had told Castiel that the battle was unwinnable. That Raphael’s forces were too powerful.

my KINGDOM for a version of season six where there's some episodes where cas runs around convincing various of his brethren to join him like the election plot in netflix lucifer.

Now Castiel watched as his brother’s blossoms wilted, and his engines ceased to whirr.

As he focused on Phounebiel, waiting for the flare of Grace, he felt an emanation. 

Castiel.

It came from Damabiath, and as Castiel reoriented himself on the eighth plane, he saw Karael’s blade fall, surely a fatal strike. He could not block or dodge, Karael was too powerful, too close, Castiel posed too awkwardly. 

Castiel readied himself. 

On some treacherous level, a part of him held the thought that death might be a relief. His memory could stand as a martyr, and he would no longer have to lead his brothers to freedom. No longer have to profane himself with demons and deity. No longer have to fight losing battle after losing battle while Heaven tore itself apart. No longer have to watch his brothers die. No longer have to kill them.

It seemed… peaceful.

and like that's crucial here, right? cas is at rock bottom. he really has nothing else to lose, emotionally. this is the catalyst to him like. giving up on his hangups in the next scene. he's too suicidal to care about propriety anymore

And then Damabiath was there between him and Karael, and the fatal strike came down, but it did not pierce Castiel. Damabiath’s Grace flooded over and through both of them, Castiel and Karael, and both were frozen.

But Castiel was quicker to recover from the shock, and dispatched Karael in short order, piercing straight through his transverse wing and into his center.

The battle raged on.

-

Crowley’s lab was empty when Castiel stormed in, slamming the doors open with a gust of wind powerful enough to knock implements off tables. Good.

like cas' primary motivation here isn't lust it's like. rage. he's lashing out. he's so angry and frustrated and miserable that he's essentially being like okay. that thing i wasn't supposed to do? i'm gonna do it. to SPITE you. although he isn't like actually spiting anyone except his own superego, you know? like his own desire is kind of secondary.

The floor was smeared with brown and dark red. Crowley rarely bothered to clean up spilled blood and viscera, reasoning that there would always be more, and besides: it would make for a more unsettling atmosphere for any prisoners. Castiel was glad of this habit now, as he flooded the room with his Grace, searching out the leftover molecules of one body in particular.

He found it. Part of it. Enough. 

He knitted it together with the power of Creation. It was not difficult. 

He had already remade this body once.

-

Some Heavens were neutral ground, hastily agreed upon during wartime because angels needed to be able to pass through them, regardless of their affiliation. These Heavens were not suitable for Castiel’s purpose. There were too few of them, and too many angels likely to pass through. The hard-won Heavens of his own side were likewise too populous, and discovery there would be far worse. Only one option left.

Castiel took himself to the center of Raphael’s territory. He was a single angel, he shouldn’t be perceived if he was careful enough. And Raphael’s domain was vast. Castiel’s army had managed to carve out a few thousand Heavens, a mouse’s bite of the celestial infinity. Raphael had the rest.

this is also cas being intentionally self-destructive. he's taking risks because he has given up caring and is just acting out against every rule of good sense he can think of, at least partly because he wants to die.

The denizen of this Heaven was alone. His wife had met her soulmate six years after he died, and was spending most of her eternity on a beach in Malibu with him. Only one memory of this man had made it into her rotation, an evening drinking cocoa during a small blizzard in Maine. But this man’s core memory was baking cookies with her in the middle of the night, while they laughed and the television blared in the background, comforting and incomprehensible. 

Castiel had chosen this Heaven primarily because it was stable. Most humans cycled through their memories frenetically, but this man fixated. A twenty minute loop of the same night in 1974. Better yet, the memory took place in the kitchen, but the noise of the television was a crucial element, so it contained a totally empty living room. 

and you chose it because you're a sad lonely jealous boy. clown.

Castiel wished the man had thought to buy a slightly longer couch. No matter. It would do.

Heaven rejected the bodything. It was flesh. Not vessel. Not souled being. Just molecules and electrical signals and a little bit of earthly mysticism to imitate the forms of life. Reality rippled, and for a moment Castiel feared there would be some convulsion. A tear. An expulsion. Heaven would rend asunder and all of Raphael’s followers would converge on the disturbance, and he would die humiliated. 

Instead, Castiel felt a pulsing tug on his Grace.

Of course.

His essence threaded through the copy now, just as it did the original. Enough of it that the empty thing was not quite empty. Indeed, it felt far more like it should, because now it carried the marks of Castiel’s remaking. Of his Creation.

again. cas' grace as sexual organ. not just because it's in dean but because he creates with it. it's reproductive.

Well, not all the marks. Castiel stepped closer.

“How may I please you?” said the thing. It did not flinch back. Did not cover its nakedness as the real one would.

Castiel felt God’s Grace (his self) (His self) flow through his vessel and encouraged it to congregate and coagulate, let it pool, let it gather in the palm of his vessel’s right hand until the flesh began to glow, not with Grace, but with plain, molten heat.

....and that sexual organ comes from god. put a pin in this.

The body did not move as Castiel brought that hand close. But when he pressed flesh to flesh, there was a piercing, satisfying scream.

in his anger and frustration he is enjoying torturing this deanbody. it's a punching bag for him to lash out against in his misery, and it's also a symbol of the desire he is so afraid of and he is so disgusted with himself for harboring. enacting violence against it punishes himself for engaging in this disgusting act, and it also protects him from the terror of desire.

In the aftermath, the thing shied away from him for a moment, but it lacked the mind to remain afraid for long. Instead, it traced a finger over the puffy, raised pink brand on the flesh of its shoulder. Castiel’s final mark. His signature. His seal.

Castiel moved– was– forward. His vessel did not move, rather, Heaven shrank around him, until he and the body were chest to chest. Not yet touching, but so achingly close.

Castiel inflated his vessel's lungs.

It only took a slight push for the thing to collapse backward onto the sofa. It was soft and pliant, built to be shaped to his will.

He found himself wishing for a little resistance. Perhaps a sarcastic jab. Some kind of mockery. Something of the human this homunculus imitated. But the mindless thing only watched him with parted lips, ready to receive revelation however he wished to give it. 

i don't know if people caught this but what cas is wishing here is for the dean doll to object, to not consent. and like part of that is motivated by cas' issues. he thinks that what he wants from dean is just too disgusting, too awful, and that dean could never desire him or care about him that way because poor castiel so alone in the world no one care him no one understand him. like it is absolutely a reflection of his loneliness and self-disgust. but he is also absolutely wishing that this felt more like a rape. and it's not really hurting anyone, the doll is just a doll, but it's indicative of something very unpleasant about his state of mind, and like. where he's at. one of the main theses of this fic is very much like... repression and self-hatred can lead a person to do awful things.

The nose of Castiel’s vessel wrinkled.

The doll’s legs bent easily as Castiel pressed it into the couch, folding it just so. He knew he needed access to its genitalia for this. It was supple and flexible, he could press its legs up and to the sides such that its body was nearly folded in half and its thighs formed an inviting gateway.

Castiel’s vessel was also a male, but no matter. He knew humans had an auxiliary entrance, shared between the sexes. He would use that.

yes babygirl dehumanize it as much as possible. be so disgusted by your own desires that engaging in them feels like doing violence to your partner, so much so that you have to dehumanize them.

The body’s penis was soft. That wasn’t usually the way of things, but Castiel was not sure it mattered. He had no plans to make use of it.

Castiel glared down at the doll. It was so much flesh, laid out before him, open and wanting. He ran the tips of his vessel’s fingers down its chest, and it shivered a little. Its lips parted, and Castiel…

In order to– to mount the thing, he would need to be on top of it. He positioned himself with one hand above its left shoulder, and his knees between its thighs.

He knew he needed to free his vessel’s penis. On Earth, he would have to deal with the complex fastenings of his human garments, but here they were only a half-formed image, a thought shared between Heaven and Castiel. They were gone. 

For a moment, all he could think of was this scene through other eyes. The hero Castiel debasing himself in animal filth. Not even fornicating with a human, but something far lesser, and far more damning: he was proving that even in their absence he was prey to their carnal impulses. That he wanted what no angel should want. He could see it now: not just Raphael’s army, but his own, converging on this place to tear him to shreds. All his brethren, finally united, in the quest to destroy him. And if they knew what he had been doing with Crowley, what he and the demon were planning… 

Castiel folded in on himself, a half-fear, half-guilt cringe spanning dozens of dimensions. His brothers’ disgust would be well-deserved, for far greater reasons than those. He could still feel himself dirtied with the Grace of the angels he’d slaughtered since he’d started this war. Or even beyond that: since Dean had spun his vessel in Zachariah’s waiting room, and his whole world was torn asunder. Hadraniel, Phounebiel, Karael, Peniel, Sabrael, Rikbiel… he was forgetting some of their names. Just the ones he had struck down with his own blade. But it went beyond them. His own men: Nelchael, Sophia, Armisael, Zachriel, Oriel, Kokabiel, Uziel, Netzach, Bariel, Lahabiel, Nuriel, Cambiel, Soqedhozi, Theliel, Verchiel, and dozens of others. All dead. He did not know the extent of the casualties on Raphael’s side, but he had seen the decimated ranks. He had seen Anapiel giving orders to the nineteenth flight, a sure sign that Elyon was dead. Even whole garrisons: he had not seen Charm mobilized for nearly three months, and flights he knew had been Charm’s were now serving in Strange, Up, or Beauty. And of course, he had seen Raphael’s soldiers slain at the hands of his own forces, brother against brother: Machidiel, Galizur, Kutiel, Zadkeil, Cahethal. More. More and more, until the planes of Heaven echoed empty. All pointless, because angel against angel was not the grounds on which Heaven would be won. All of it on Castiel because he alone understood what needed to be done, compromises that had to be made, the blasphemy that he had to become. All leading Heaven to ruin because he could not find Purgatory, take control, and end this war.

this is really the point of this fic. this paragraph. also as soon as i wrote this fic i sent it to @fluorescentbrains (physics grad student) to be like you see this??? you see my physics reference??? specifically in this paragraph. (to be clear: charm, strange, up, and beauty are all names of quarks. the implication here is that there are garrisons named after all the quarks, cas just hasn't mentioned them all. beauty is a little outdated as a quark name, truth and beauty are now called top and bottom, but i like the old ones better. so).

Castiel found himself sinking desperately into the warmth of the body beneath him, pressing himself against it, skin to skin. His vessel shook, and he felt himself fall, the heat and movement of not quite human flesh supporting the crushing weight of his entire self . 

and now that cas has had his breakdown and anger has given way to misery, now it cas be about comfort, rather than violence.

He brushed lips to open lips. Not because he had planned it, but because it was his vessel’s instinct, and his angelic nature was occupied with collapsing in on itself. 

Famine had touched him once, and the ecstasy of tearing into raw cow-flesh, laid out on the floor in worship of it, was all he could think of as he licked into the mouth before him. He took and consumed, desperate to suck passion from the mindless thing’s lips.

His cock had swelled while he was distracted, and he needed this doll now. He rubbed against its sweat slick skin, and it curled up into him as though desperate for his touch.

He pushed it down.

The simulated breeding. He needed to put his fingers in it. He needed to sit before it and flick his wrist and– He momentarily considered giving it a skirt, before deciding that was unnecessary to the measure. He shifted backward, and found himself having to perch on the arm of the couch.

Frustration flared.

Castiel reached a tendril of Grace into the mind of the man of this Heaven, and told him a little white lie. Just that the olive green couch he’d bought secondhand with his wife in 1968 had been two feet longer.

this is maybe the worst thing cas does in this whole fic. he permanently alters the memories of a dead man who must live the rest of his existence trapped in this one memory. like it's all he has. and cas perverts it, selfishly.

Castiel settled into his spot.

The emptything's penis was growing erect now, and he took it in hand to keep it out of his way. Fluid beaded at the tip. Castiel felt the muscles of his abdomen flex as he licked his lips.

Castiel knew copulation between human males should require lubrication of some kind, and he ordered reality to become slick and wet around his hand. He pressed a finger to the doll’s entrance. Muscles opened easily for him, flesh stretching like putty in a way that would indicate possible medical issues in a real human, but Castiel supposed it was sometimes reasonable to prioritize function over realism. He pushed two fingers into it, curling and stroking them against velvety inner walls. He felt more than heard the doll sigh, a low, shuddery sound.

Its legs jerked, and it curled up towards him again, but this time he nearly doubled over with the new need in his belly.

He reoriented himself, above the thing once again, and brushed the head of his dick to its hole. The softness called him. He would not put a barrier of rubber between them. The muscles of its thighs rippled as they came up to cage his own.

come fetish mpreg boy strikes again <3

He let his vessel guide him, let instinct tell him to press in and sheathe himself in the body he craved.

The world tilted on its axis, rearranged itself. Castiel until this moment has no idea that human nerve signals could be this intoxicating. Millennia of miracles superseded by his stolen cock embedded in hot, slick flesh.

He found himself grasping at whatever he could reach, his not-of-this-vessel strength leaving instant purple bruises on the body beneath him until his right hand found the puffy pink scar on its shoulder. 

He fucked it without ceremony, hard and selfishly. And despite that he could hear its moans filling the space around them, feel its dick hard between them rubbing slickly against his sweat-soaked stomach. Skin slid against skin over the whole length of their joined forms, every place they touched.

he wants that doll to hate him like (he feels) everyone else does/should sooooo bad. and it won't. it refuses to hate him because it's a thing and this drives him crazy

His need was too great, and his world narrowed. His vessel persisted, but his self, his Grace, God’s Grace pooled, gathering in his penis and the palm of his right hand. Just enough left in his vessel to animate the relevant muscles and keep him thrusting, and he felt his head loll, useless and lifeless. The muscles of his legs, arms, hips snapped graceless and Graceless and awkward with the sole goal of keeping him enrobed in pleasure.

pretty sure enrobed is a word they only use in chocolate bar marketing.

“Dean.” Hearing himself say it, his own voice wrecked and desperate, he shuddered. He pressed close. “Dean.”

Cas.

He could almost hear it, in among the wordless moans.

Cas, Dean cried, hungry for him. Desperate for him. Cas, I want you. Cas, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve always wanted you. Cas, Cas, Cas, God, Cas, Cas. Cas, please.

this is like. to me. the saddest moment in this fic. cas finally lets himself imagine what he wants to here. while he's fucking a sex doll that can never give it to him.

Cas leaned down and cut off Dean’s cries with a kiss, slowing his thrusts so they could savor this moment, this ultimate joining and togetherness. He took a moment to savor the softness of Dean’s body, welcoming him in every cell. Made for him. Suffused with his Grace.

Cas slid his left hand up Dean’s chest, pinching a nipple on the way, and finally cupping the back of his neck, cradling Dean’s head in his fingers. He kissed him again, rubbed their noses together, brushed his lips to each of his cheeks. He clutched Dean to him, and Dean clutched him back, wrapping his legs tight around Cas’ waist, urging him onward with purpose.

Cas took with abandon. He took from Dean. Took with Dean. He felt Dean shake beneath him, body rippling with the power of his orgasm. Dean’s body worshiped him, craved him, loved him, tightened around him.

God, Cas.

there we are. here's cas fantasizing about being god. just a little. because then he can have whatever he wants. i've talked all the time about meet the new boss as a deeply erotic experience for cas. he's gotten past his hangups about sex with dean, or at least, fantasizing about sex with dean. he's now losing his hangups about the blasphemy of being god. and the thing about being god is, he can have whatever he wants. and like, becoming god is very much at least partly erotic for reasons of wanting to be dean's god as well, obviously.

Cas felt himself teeter, tip, and finally fall. 

Whiteout. Castiel melting down. Pleasure. Reality wavering. Castiel destroyed. Heaven flickering. The world turning. Castiel reforged.

Remade in God’s image.

he's lost his previous identity. like that's what i was saying earlier about cas being suicidal and at rock bottom. destroying his hangups and repression feels like destroying himself, it's a kind of ego death. which he has just experienced at the moment of orgasm here.

Cas collapsed upon the broad chest beneath him. He closed his eyes, nestling into hard pectorals, caring nothing for the quickly-growing-tacky sweat soaking everything or sticky stripes of semen painted under him.

He felt a hand card gently through his hair and sighed. He could stay here forever. Would stay here forever if it weren’t for the fact that that outburst of energy must have been felt by every angel in the Firmament. Surely they were all converging on his location, on this little Heaven he had found, his own slice of paradise. But the hand stroked his face, cupped his cheek, and he could not bear the thought of leaving this moment.

“Dea–”

but he can't quite stand the vulnerability, still. he catches himself imagining it was dean and he can't let himself do that.

Castiel snapped to attention. He stared down at the bodything, the emptything, the not-dean-thing that he had made use of. It blinked back up at him, guileless. Seemingly unaware of its debauched state, the fluids covering its belly and the bruises dotting its chest.

“How may I please you?”

God’s Grace boiled over inside Castiel, hot and cleansing. He felt its flow, flowed with it, became it, until the body beneath him was filled.

Castiel did not flinch when it exploded.

For a moment, he stood, envesseled, soaked in blood and entrails and his own semen that he’d injected into the shameful doll.

the anger returns. the shame returns. also, the equivocation between the explosion and ejaculation finally becomes totally explicit.

Then he shook himself. Ordered the truth to make his vessel clean, and clothed, and presentable to another angel’s eyes. Soon his brethren would find this place. It was best he not be present when they did.

Besides, he had a war to lose. He had a God to become.

so this little rock bottom experience has given cas a lot of things. he's refreshed and he has taken a moment of pleasure for himself, but also he's just like... gotten over himself. he's gotten past some hangups. including the one about blasphemy. he is newly re-committed. honestly when i wrote this fic i thought the sex scene at the end was the weakest link because it's like way less erotic than like, the siren gore, or the lisa and dean scene. but like. i've really come around on it.

[wrebeccawrites]

I think I might be alone in thinking this but hear me out: my knee jerk reaction to the kiss in episode six was that it wasn’t consensual and it was the first time I’d seen Crowley do something genuinely demonic. Like, I know Aziraphale loves him and they want to be together and yada yada yada but to think about how much pain that must cause. By kissing him before he was ready, by kissing him as a way to change his mind, Crowley took this thing that maybe they both had been craving for a long time and tarnished it. This big step in their relationship is always going to be flavored with guilt and betrayal and heartbreak now. I didn’t read Aziraphale touching his lips as “let me remember this feeling” I read it as “how could you?”

None of this is to say the kiss shouldn’t have happened. I think it needed to happen and it needed to happen like that. But in the entirety of the series, I’d never seen Crowley act with such disregard for Aziraphale’s needs and do something awful for their own sake. Ya know? Like they’ve gone on this journey on Earth where everyone calls them “nice” and they insist that they are not nice. But nothing they did in the first two seasons proved that they weren’t nice, or good, or forgivable. In this moment, I think they proved that they aren’t nice, they just act for Aziraphales best interest which tends to be on the side of “good”. And when they are acting in their own self interest, standing up for themselves and their feelings, they do something that, in any other context, kissing someone who does not want to be kissed, would be considered assault.

I know that Aziraphale holds on to them and it’s Crowley who breaks away, but it doesn’t change the fact that there wasn’t consent for it. I think Aziraphale has every right to be fucking furious and the fact that his response is “I forgive you” proves that Crowley just did something that requires forgiveness.

[lilias300yearhusband]

Here’s my updated rules list. Sorry if it looks bad I’m not good at design.

I WILL block any accounts that are blank or don’t have age in their bio if you interact with me and are under 18. I know you’ll probably read my content anyways but don’t interact if you do, I don’t want to know about minors reading my fics. If you lie about your age then it’s not my problem because it isn’t my job to parent you.

Any character that is under 18 will be aged up for fics. Any characters like Luke or Ortho who look and are treated as young kids will be platonic only and you will be automatically blocked if asked otherwise.

Who will I write for?

Obey Me -

Lucifer (submissive only)

Mammon

Leviathan

Satan

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Belphegor

Solomon

Barbatos

Simeon

Luke (PLATONIC ONLY)

Mystic Messenger -

Zen/Hyun Ryu

Yoosung Kim

Jumin Han (submissive only)

707/Luciel Choi/Saeyoung Choi

V/Jihyun Kim

Unknown/Saeran Choi/Ray

Twisted Wonderland -

To me NRC & RSA are actually collages for talented mages and not a high school so I will write as such. First years are 19, second years are 20, third years are 21 and Leona is 23 (except for Malleus and Lilia). No joke I constantly forget they aren’t collage age😭

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Cater Diamond

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

Ruggie Bucchi

Jack Howl

Octavinelle

(I will not write Jade and Floyd together in a romantic or sexual setting)

Azul Ashengrotto

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim

Jamil Viper

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit

Rook Hunt

Epel Felmier

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud

Ortho Shroud (PLATONIC ONLY)

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia

Lilia Vanrouge (both NRC and general Lilia)

Silver

Sebek Zigvolt

Ramshackle

Grim (PLATONIC ONLY)

NRC Staff

(I will write platonic and romantic for both but the reader will be aged up and not the prefect if it’s romantic)

Dire Crowley

Divas Crewel

Mozus Trein

Sam

RSA students

Che’nya/Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker

Neige LeBlanche

While he doesn’t show up in game I am willing to write for Prince Rielle because I love mermaids.

Others

Rollo Flamme

—————————————

What will I write?

NB/Male/Trans man/Trans masc reader

Trans masc characters

Top/Dom/Sub reader

Bottom/Dom/Sub character

Fluff

Angst

Smut within reason (I’m open to almost anything just look at what I won’t write)

What won’t I write?

Fem/Trans fem reader

Trans fem characters (I love my trans sisters but I don’t understand their experiences and don’t think I could write them well)

Bottom reader

Top character

Anything romantic/sexual with Ortho and Luke

Teacher/Student relationships

Anything nonconsensual (consent nonconsent and dubious consent is ok)

Piss or Scat

Vomit in a sexual context (non sexual is fine but it won’t be overly detailed)

Incest

Demoncest

Self harm or suicide (unless it’s canon)

Pregnancy

Diavolo or Ashton Vargas I hate these bastards

Trey Clover, I just can’t pin down his personality

Rollo being weird/creepy towards reader or being jealous because reader and Malleus

[kirsdoesstuff]

Kirs

Picrew

-Note-

This is just my insert so relax it just me, but age little different to be what it’ll be before 2024 comes around. Only used for self indulging fics. I will let you know when insert is used.

Also, Disney is known to my Insert (childhood). So a self aware situation of things. Maleficent was my favourite villain growing up.

General information

Nickname:

Kirs

Age:

20

Height:

151 cm / 4’11.49”

Pronouns:

She/They/He

School Year:

Freshman

Best subject:

Mathematics

Small Pretext:

Kirs wasn’t expecting to get transported to another world when they left home to go to work. They even got forced back into high school, but was surrounded by magic and had a magical beast companion of sorts.

Items Brought Along:

Phone

Charger for Phone

Bluetooth Earbuds (for break time)

Lanyard with Pins and LED Nametag

Gum

Sour Mints

Mini Notepad

Mini Sketchbook

Multi Colour Pen

Ita Bag (Containing said Items)

Plenty of Anime, Kitsune and Disney pins on bag

Interests

Hobbies:

Listening to music

Singing (alone)

Drawing/Sketching

Doing Crowley’s job (not a choice)

Dancing to themself

Studying with fellow students

Working odd times at Sam’s Shop

Going to a few Light Music Club meets

Magicam Posts:

Pictures of Grim

Renovations to Ramshackle

General thoughts of the day

Silly photos with friends

Flowers in the Botanical Garden

Sketches of flowers or general anatomy

Sketches of friends who consent to it

Lunch of the day

A song from their world they feel fits the way they feel that day and explaining what it’s about

Rants without mentioning people, but it’s obvious who they’re talking about if the reader knows them

Favourite Season:

Fall 🍂

Season they were born in and the time leaves change colours. From vivid greens to bright yellows and finally lovely reds.

Also contains their favourite holiday of Halloween. Everything gets spooky for the time leading up to it. Also who doesn’t like free candy?

Relationships

Mother Bird to:

Ace

Deuce

Epel

Riddle

Besties with:

Cater

Jack

Ruggie

Malleus

General Friends with:

Trey

Leona

Kalim

Vil

Rook

Ortho

Lilia

Silver

Teacher Rank List:

Professor Crewel

Professor Trein

Coach Vargas

They get along for the most part:

Azul

Jade

Jamil

Idia

Sebek

Not sure how to feel around:

Jade

Floyd

Jamil

Idia

Could Crush on:

Leona

Malleus

[sacred-datura01]

WITCHCRAFT ASK GAME!

What drew you to witchcraft?

I’ve been interested in it for a really long time, I started this blog in 2016 so I would’ve been 13 years old (omg I feel old). Because of that, it’s kind of hard to say how exactly I got into it but I have always been very interested in the occult and alternative subcultures so it just came together naturally I think.

Do you follow a specific witchcraft tradition, or are you eclectic?

Definitely eclectic. I have specific interests though in lunar and arts/crafts witchcraft :)

Do you believe in the Threefold Law or karma in witchcraft?

I don’t believe in the threefold law personally, I’ve never seen any evidence for it. But I think you could say I believe in karma because I do believe that we receive the energy we put out, if you’re making the effort to be kind to everyone then I think kindness will find its way back to you.

What advice would you give to someone who feels called to witchcraft but is unsure where to begin?

Not to feel too overwhelmed and understand that it takes time to figure out your beliefs and everything that comes with it. It’s easy to look at the massive amount of information online and in books and feel intimidated but everyone else has been there too. Just take it easy and enjoy the process.

What tools or items are absolutely essential for your practice?

Tarot! Love tarot cards so much!

Have you ever had a dream or vision that felt prophetic?

If I have, I don’t remember it.

What do you think of Aleister Crowley?

Don’t know enough to make a proper statement but he seems like he was a goober from the small amount I have heard.

Do you think witches can create their own deities?

I’m never one to police other peoples practices and I think it’s ok for others to do what they want as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. But I personally don’t see the appeal.

How do you feel about people worshiping deities from pop culture?

Similar to the last question. I think there are some interesting things that people do with pop culture witchcraft but worshiping deities from it is a bit hard for me to understand.

What’s your opinion on the idea that "all magic comes with a cost"?

I don’t agree. It’s like saying that everything we do comes at a cost in my opinion, but like what cost comes with painting a picture? Or applying for a new job? Witchcraft is too similar to other lifestyle choices for me to imagine it has its own currency to practice.

What’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you during a spell?

I don’t do a lot of spell work tbh, mostly personal study and ritual for personal growth. But I think something that would count is that my new years tarot spread for 2024 perfectly predicted me moving in with my boyfriend :)

If you could cast one spell right now, what would it be and why?

One for the health of my kitties </3 they’re quite old

What’s your belief on the afterlife, and how does it affect your spiritual practices?

I don’t think about it often and don’t have particular beliefs about the afterlife. I just focus on what I can do in my current life to be as healthy and fulfilled as possible.

What’s your opinion on the importance of connecting with the land in witchcraft?

I think it’s really important to be connected to your space, that includes the environment and land you live in. I live in Canada so acknowledgement of the lands history is really important here already, and in witchcraft I think it can provide a lot of benefits to be familiar with it. You can learn a lot from nature and history.

How do you feel about using magic to influence others?

Not into it. I think manifestation can have a passive impact on others but they still have free will in their decisions which is important. Influencing others without consent with things like love spells just doesn’t feel right to me.

What’s your opinion on hexing or cursing?

I personally don’t do it because I don’t think it’s the healthiest way to deal with things, at least with everything I’ve been through. But I do understand why people would do it in certain situations.

Do you believe in spiritual psychosis?

Of course, I have a background in psychology so I’m inclined to believe things like this. It’s really scary sometimes actually.

Thanks for reading y’all :)

[ladyofthestarsstuff]

I would disagree on one point.

Crowley can and does understand that it isn’t how Aziraphale works. He can and does understand the how and what of why Aziraphale can’t walk away. In the beginning of that scene there is hope on his face because he saw the way that Aziraphale reacted to Gabriel and Bee. He just needs to make his move. He needs to sack up.

The hope starts to crumble when Metatron speaks to Aziraphale. You can see the way that nearly all of that hope falls away before Crowley even speaks. You can watch each little piece fall away as he desperately asks if he told the Metatron where to stick it. You can SEE that he already knows and that, in truth, he already understands.

But he says it anyways. He says everything anyways because even though knows he’s already lost, he’s desperate and he needs to say it and he’s full of hope that maybe it’s enough. Maybe Aziraphale will choose him again because he did before. And when he doesn’t, you can see the moment he knows he’s lost. You can see it get snuffed out in Crowley’s eyes.

He knew and he understood but he was still hurt and angry because he hoped Aziraphale would still choose him.

What’s heart breaking is that Aziraphale did. Aziraphale chose him. Aziraphale chose to protect him and be with him forever- even if it meant giving up everything he loved on earth. He could do good, he could give Crowley back his angelic status, they could make a difference.

It’s Aziraphale that doesn’t understand.

He needs safety and security and to know that Crowley is safe. If heaven and hell won’t stop until the universe is destroyed, they can be on the winning side for eternity. He needs that more than anything. It’s the only way to keep Crowley safe and the only way to control the situation. It was never about Heaven and it’s hold on Aziraphale. It was about making Crowley’s decision for him, with or without his consent, because he felt like he had to play things safe. Because he felt that his version of love, to protect his beloved at all costs, was the right one.

Crowley knows that he cannot win. He knows it because he understands how his Angel works. He knows that heaven will twist things and offer him everything he’s ever wanted. Crowley fully understands the how and the why Aziraphale made that choice. When he hears what Metatron offers, you can see that he knows he’s already lost.

Maybe he hopes that he can reason with Aziraphale and make him understand that together they can do anything. That doing it their way for however long they have is better than an eternity of safety. Aziraphale is worth losing everything he ever loved and all of creation- so long as he has some time with his Angel and a chance. Or maybe he just wants his Angel to understand him.

Even Aziraphale knows. He doesn’t understand until he gets into that elevator but he does know. He doesn’t go to heaven because it has a hold on him, he goes to heaven because even if he can’t have the love of his life- it’s enough to know that he can keep him safe.

They don’t get what they want and their hearts are broken because their partners choose a different path- but I think they both KNOW. That’s what makes it so brilliant and the ways David and Michael play the scene so heart wrenching. The Angel will sacrifice his own happiness for his demon and his demon is railing desperately, screaming for him to understand that he doesn’t NEED to. Because ‘us’ is the only everything that matters.

Their love for each other is unconditional- they may not understand each others perspective and they may show that love differently- but it’s unconditional. And in the end, that’s what tears them apart. Different love languages.

Crowley’s is selfish and wants that love for himself even if they only get it for a little while.

Aziraphale will give up everything else he’s ever cared about to keep his beloved safe. Even his own happiness.

They are saying the same thing in different fonts and they both KNOW. You can’t win a fight against someone who believes their way of loving you is the only way.

I’m emotionally ruined by the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t broken out of his heavenly conditioning. He still loves doing good. He gets happy when people tell him he’s an angel and says “it’s nice to tell people about the good things you’ve done now that I’m not reporting to Heaven”. He will literally put himself in harm’s way to make sure he does the Good and Right thing.

It can’t be understated how much Heaven’s influence still impacts on him. Aziraphale has been created, ordained and conditioned to believe it and he can’t just switch it off or walk away. Crowley didn’t get the choice. He was Fallen. He was kicked out and - as per the rules of toxic and terrifying cults - Aziraphale was always told for centuries and millennia, Falling was the worst thing that could happen. If you’re bad, you’ll be forced out. If you’re bad, you’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them.

When he did something he perceived as Right (ie. saving innocent children from death), but knew it wasn’t what Heaven intended, he broke down. Crowley found him a crying, shaking wreck afterwards because he was so convinced he was Evil. He was so convinced he was going to be dragged to Hell and that he was now a demon because he did one thing that saved some children but because it wasn’t a specific directive, it was Bad.

It shapes so much about him and it’s why the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it. He’s happy and excited and he’s doing his human-life things and having a lovely time, but he’s also constantly stressed because of the Need To Do Good. From the moment Gabriel turns up, he’s a nervous wreck and is trying to hide it by Doing Good, by Solving the Problem, by Fixing Things, by being so active and reactive rather than letting himself think about it. It’s a sign of exactly how frantic he is that he starts giving away his books and letting humans touch them.

Watch his face when the Archangels show up unexpectedly: that isn’t joy. That’s blind terror. He’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing in Heaven’s eyes, even though he made the active choice to do so because it was the Right thing to do. He’s a Guardian and he will protect, but he is so very afraid of the repercussions, even now. 

At the end of S1, Crowley said “they’re gearing up for the big one” so Aziraphale’s not oblivious. He knows a big one is coming. He knows something worse than the Antichrist will be on its way. And he’s trying so hard to pretend that everything is normal and fine and if he ignores all the looming bad stuff, it won’t happen. If we don’t say anything about it, nothing has to change.

But then the changes come knocking at his door holding a box and the choice is gone. He can keep trying to blinker himself to it, but then there are angels and demons in the bookshop and he’s had to use his halo and everything is falling apart.

So when he realises that he can get himself into a position where he can guarantee those repercussions won’t happen to Crowley? He will absolutely take it. He says himself “I don’t want to go back to Heaven”, but the instant the Metatron offers him a free pass for Crowley, to take Crowley out of both Heaven and Hell’s sightlines, to keep him safe (Another bee inside the hive, if you will), no wonder he grabs it with both hands.

The tragedy is that Crowley thinks that when they saved the world together, that was the end of Heaven’s influence in Aziraphale. When he was cast out the split between him and Heaven was sharp and clean. He doesn’t - he can’t - understand how deeply it has tangled around Aziraphale. It’s built into Aziraphale’s entire being and unravelling it isn’t that simple. Aziraphale’s trauma is a horrible, terrible Gordian knot and Crowley can’t understand that he couldn’t simply cut through it, because that’s just not how Aziraphale works.